It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....After two weeks of really exceptional spring weather, we woke this morning to snow on the ground and rooftops. Our arrival on the meseta was met with gusts of wind, followed by grey sky and rain. Blisters have gone past the point of "grin and bear it" for Karen. She, along with a marathon runner from Atlanta, limped in for a Doctors consultation and some rest days are bringing healing. Dave continued walking full days and experienced one day of rain, gale and misery, followed by a morning in wind. Knees are sore. Yesterday Karen rode in a luggage transfer van, then a bus to meet Dave, and met one of our compadres on the bus, heading off for a rest. After a night in a refugio with coughing bunkmates and one poor girl with stomach flu retching down the hall on a regular basis all night, we now have bus tickets in hand for Leon. It is the time of the Camino when all of our various ailments have reached the point where we can no longer deny that something must be done.
Dave now. Karen's feet kept her resting and seeking medical attention, so we agreed for some "solitude time" and I kept walking. The first day (the last day of our good weather) was great! Nice scenery -- I was walking through a valley -- birds, and the good kind of solitude in which you feel one with the universe. Refugio that night was in a place that had opened only the day before!
The next day was different. The first task was to climb out of the valley -- a bit of a grunt -- and then straight down another steep hill onto the plain. I thought the clouds didn't really look like rain, but then it started and continued for the rest of my walk. I had planned a rest in the next town -- but everything was closed. And the next. And there wasn't really another next -- not for 18 km. So I plowed ahead through the rain and the wind, needing to keep walking just to keep warm, no shelter, no places to rest, and really, not another soul on the trail. When I went through one town, it was completely deserted except for one stray dog and an old man leaning against a ruined barn as I left (there is a sadness here in the smaller towns, maybe like the sadness in small Canadian towns. Ruins behind doors onto the street, "for sale" signs weathering on the broken windows, empty cafes...)
By the time I got to Fromista, my knees were sore, my boots full of water, my bones chilled. Hoping to meet Karen -- and needing some real sleep -- I booked a hotel room. But Karen was staying back where I began the day.
Karen now: I had seen the doctor and gone to get my "wound dressing" by the nurse. She made sure the dressing was big enough there was no way to put my boots back on. In sandles, on a wet wet wet day, it was back to my bunk to a warm sleeping bag (heat is never on in the daytime or through the night at a refugio) to read my kindle book and visit with new friends, also reduced to feet up and off the floor status.
Dave: As the day wore on, friends came into Fromista. One was ready to give up (he is now in Leon, where we are headed). One Korean who has been struggling on a sprained ankle is also headed for medical attention in Leon, afraid that he is doing serious damage. One friend that I thought I would never see on the trail, he seemed so strong, is now holding tight in this town waiting for bleeding feet to heal.
So... Monday was a tough day! I seem to be one of the lucky ones, because my feet are okay and my aches and pains seem mostly to clear up by morning. But there are a lot of walking wounded out here -- or NOT walking wounded. To cap it all, last night in our room two of the four of us were coughing and hacking, and one from the room next door spent most of the night being violently ill. I can imagine worse places to be sick than a cold refugio, packed tight with people I barely know -- but there aren't many. Tough days.
No matter what your endeavor, there are tough days. No matter what your job, no matter how much you love it, there are days when you will wish for something, anything, else. Every season, every relationship, every task, has its share of tough days.
Today the sky is sparkling blue -- at least for now. There is snow on the ground, but it feels like a perfect day to walk. But we won't be walking. We also are headed for Leon for rest and recuperation. Perhaps this is the time when we will also begin to process all that has happened so far, take account, and prepare for what comes next.
What do we do with tough days? Give up? Tough it out? Look for something to fix? Any might be possible. Knowing that tough times are bound to come helps me to get through the ordinary ones. But it is important to know when to stop, and when to fix, and when (and how) to be kind and gentle to ourselves. Grace is often something we know best in times like these. When we will accept the care, compassion, and time we need to be well.
So we, and most of our friends, will keep walking. But not today. Today we will rest and heal, and give thanks that this, too, is part of a Camino pilgrimage. Rest. Grace. Sunshine on snowy rooftops. And a warm spot to enjoy another cafe con leche.....
Dave now. Karen's feet kept her resting and seeking medical attention, so we agreed for some "solitude time" and I kept walking. The first day (the last day of our good weather) was great! Nice scenery -- I was walking through a valley -- birds, and the good kind of solitude in which you feel one with the universe. Refugio that night was in a place that had opened only the day before!
The next day was different. The first task was to climb out of the valley -- a bit of a grunt -- and then straight down another steep hill onto the plain. I thought the clouds didn't really look like rain, but then it started and continued for the rest of my walk. I had planned a rest in the next town -- but everything was closed. And the next. And there wasn't really another next -- not for 18 km. So I plowed ahead through the rain and the wind, needing to keep walking just to keep warm, no shelter, no places to rest, and really, not another soul on the trail. When I went through one town, it was completely deserted except for one stray dog and an old man leaning against a ruined barn as I left (there is a sadness here in the smaller towns, maybe like the sadness in small Canadian towns. Ruins behind doors onto the street, "for sale" signs weathering on the broken windows, empty cafes...)
By the time I got to Fromista, my knees were sore, my boots full of water, my bones chilled. Hoping to meet Karen -- and needing some real sleep -- I booked a hotel room. But Karen was staying back where I began the day.
Karen now: I had seen the doctor and gone to get my "wound dressing" by the nurse. She made sure the dressing was big enough there was no way to put my boots back on. In sandles, on a wet wet wet day, it was back to my bunk to a warm sleeping bag (heat is never on in the daytime or through the night at a refugio) to read my kindle book and visit with new friends, also reduced to feet up and off the floor status.
Dave: As the day wore on, friends came into Fromista. One was ready to give up (he is now in Leon, where we are headed). One Korean who has been struggling on a sprained ankle is also headed for medical attention in Leon, afraid that he is doing serious damage. One friend that I thought I would never see on the trail, he seemed so strong, is now holding tight in this town waiting for bleeding feet to heal.
So... Monday was a tough day! I seem to be one of the lucky ones, because my feet are okay and my aches and pains seem mostly to clear up by morning. But there are a lot of walking wounded out here -- or NOT walking wounded. To cap it all, last night in our room two of the four of us were coughing and hacking, and one from the room next door spent most of the night being violently ill. I can imagine worse places to be sick than a cold refugio, packed tight with people I barely know -- but there aren't many. Tough days.
No matter what your endeavor, there are tough days. No matter what your job, no matter how much you love it, there are days when you will wish for something, anything, else. Every season, every relationship, every task, has its share of tough days.
Today the sky is sparkling blue -- at least for now. There is snow on the ground, but it feels like a perfect day to walk. But we won't be walking. We also are headed for Leon for rest and recuperation. Perhaps this is the time when we will also begin to process all that has happened so far, take account, and prepare for what comes next.
What do we do with tough days? Give up? Tough it out? Look for something to fix? Any might be possible. Knowing that tough times are bound to come helps me to get through the ordinary ones. But it is important to know when to stop, and when to fix, and when (and how) to be kind and gentle to ourselves. Grace is often something we know best in times like these. When we will accept the care, compassion, and time we need to be well.
So we, and most of our friends, will keep walking. But not today. Today we will rest and heal, and give thanks that this, too, is part of a Camino pilgrimage. Rest. Grace. Sunshine on snowy rooftops. And a warm spot to enjoy another cafe con leche.....
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